Page 40 of Mating of Convenience
“Yeah, and youcouldbe, if you’d been the one with enough foresight to buy data.” A smug grin found its way on my face. I couldn’t help it; I’d known the moment would come that my perpetual preparedness would pay out.
“Okay, okay, you win. I’m still gonna pay, though.”
“Why’s that so important to you?”
“Because…” Raph slowed his step a little. “Because I still feel like I owe you, I guess. For coming here. For being so great about it…”
“You don’t have to buy me crepes for that.”
He shook his head. “There’s something else too.”
“Something else?”
Raph nodded. “I’ll tell you inside.”
“Okay.” My curiosity was definitely piqued now. What did Raph think he had to make up for? Our break-up? He’d already apologized for that. But maybe there was more to that story than he was letting on. I’d been wondering about it for a while after all. No matter how I looked at the way he’d left me--and I’d replayed the day over and over in my mind--things never really added up. One day we were fine and the next, he needed to leave town.
Really?
I’d never totally understood what happened. That was part of what made it so hard to move on.
Well, if I was lucky, maybe Raph was going to tell me more, today or another day.
The crepes place turned out to be a small restaurant located on the ground floor of an expensive looking department store with a French name that I could never hope to pronounce correctly. It smelled good, though, of sugar and vanilla and coffee, and I felt a bit fancy, eating in unpronounceable places. Raph and I took seats at a table for two near the door and eyed the laminated menus--which were entirely in French.
“What does it say?” Raph asked.
“Why should I know?”
“You took French in high school,” he reminded me.
“Yeah, but I sucked at it.” I scanned the list of crepes with my eyes but I couldn’t remember what any of these words meant. “I think pomme is apple. Maybe.”
Raph did not look impressed with my lack of French skills. Before he could make a comment, though, a waitress approached our table. In one of her hands, she carried more menus. “English?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” I responded gratefully. Thank God Paris was a popular tourist destination.
The waitress handed us the menus with a smile but without any more words. She either couldn’t or didn’t want to speak English. Whatever. She didn’t have to. I was just glad that I could order something now--and know what I would be getting.
“I think I know what I want,” Raph said after only a moment.
“Yeah?” I wasn’t surprised. Raph always made his decisions quickly. He wasn’t one to read the entire menu and agonize over his choices. Nah. He just went with the first dish that sounded good.
“I’ll have the crepe with smoked sausage and roasted apples.”
That did sound good. “I can’t decide between that one and the one the one with the camembert.”
“Take the camembert one.”
“Why that one?”
“So I can try it too.” Raph shot me a grin. For a moment, whatever had been weighing on him seemed to be gone from his mind.
“Okay then,” I said, glad to see him happy. Once I put the menu aside, the waitress came back and I could place our order. Luckily, all the dishes had numbers next to them, making both my life and the waitress’s lives easier. To drink, we both ordered Cokes, which were served almost immediately. I only hoped the food would be quick too. The rumbling of my stomach was starting to be audible over the soft French pop music that played in the background.
Raph took a sip of his Coke and looked around the restaurant. There were hardly any other guests beside us and the atmosphere could have been described as cozy. And yet there seemed to be something that made him uncomfortable.
“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” I asked. Not only because I was curious, but also because I figured he’d feel better once we’d talked about it.
